


I Wish I Were Big

by SecretStudentDragonBlog



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 06:00:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17156555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecretStudentDragonBlog/pseuds/SecretStudentDragonBlog
Summary: Three days before Christmas, with a big live show to play on Christmas Eve, Patrick and Pete wake up feeling a little unusual.





	I Wish I Were Big

**Author's Note:**

  * For [glitterandrocketfuel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitterandrocketfuel/gifts).



> This is a last-minute submission because Christmas took over in my house! I've had to fit in writing where I could, and having a VERY LOUD neighbour who thinks that we all want to share her terrible drum 'n' bass all the live long day hasn't been conducive to a serene writing environment.
> 
> For the very lovely and wonderful and awesome Glitterandrocketfuel because I adore her and am always in awe of her writing and wish I could write half as well as she does. Merry Christmas, my lovely.

3 Days Until Christmas…

Patrick's a little guy. This isn’t a secret. It’s not like he could disguise it. Ok, he could, possibly, if he wanted to, use lifts in his shoes and maybe gain an extra couple of inches. But he doesn’t want to. Patrick may be short – or shorter than average – but he’s learned to live with it by this point. It would also look really fucking obvious too, if he was suddenly the same height as Pete and Andy. Point is, Patrick Stump is a little guy and therefore he doesn’t take up too much room in the bed.

Pete is also a fairly dinky dude. Somehow though, he manages to spread himself into all bed-space left unoccupied by Patrick. More often than not, Pete physically shoves himself into Patrick's space too, during the night. Patrick privately thinks they could probably just buy a single bed and sleep in that. He doesn’t voice this thought aloud to Pete because Pete loves their current bed – a super-king monstrosity that is far too big for their bedroom, and so high that Patrick's feet are at least 3 inches above the floor when he swings his legs over the side of the mattress each morning (afternoon, technically, but in Patrick's world, where 3am is bedtime, noon onwards is morning).

It is a ridiculously large bed, in every sense, but they slept in one a year ago when Good Morning America! put them all up in a very swanky hotel overnight – part of the deal for getting the band to play a special Christmas-themed mini-concert in Central Park on a freezing-cold December morning – and Pete had enthused about the bed for weeks after, claiming to have had his best nights sleep ever. Patrick has heard this from Pete multiple times over the years. Generally, it means either that Pete has slept for more than five hours solid in a night or that he fell asleep before midnight, and as enthusiastic as he is at first, it’s usually forgotten about within days when his ‘normal’ sleeping habits return.

This bed though became Pete's reference point, after spending the night in it, whenever he had a particularly bad night’s sleep – “I wish I could sleep in that New York bed again” – or even a good night – “man, I feel rested today! Not like GMA-bed rested, but not too bad, y’know?”. Patrick did know. He knew sleep was a real luxury for Pete, something he envied other people being able to just do anywhere and anytime. For Pete to still be talking about that bed almost a month after Christmas meant he really had slept well in it. And Valentine’s Day had been 3 weeks away and Patrick had been at a loss as to what to get for Pete. How much Gucci did one man really need?

So, he’d made some discreet calls, gathered some information, paid out an extortionate amount of money – plus a ‘little’ extra to grease some wheels and guarantee delivery for V-Day – and finagled to have Pete out of the house all morning the day of by taking him for breakfast (pre-booked, fancy, there was a string quartet and they were seated in the ‘Orchid Room’, which made Patrick tug at his shirt collar nervously – it turned out to be a bog-standard conservatory, but still), then shopping for a couple of hours (turns out there is always more Gucci needed, apparently). It was the most expensive Valentine’s Patrick had ever known – he actually had one of those ‘there has been some suspicious activity on your account, Mr Stump’ calls from his bank – but the look on Pete's face when they finally got home (after a text from Patrick's Mom to say the bed was delivered, installed and made up, courtesy of her) made every penny well-spent.  
The fact that Pete felt the need to christen the bed immediately, wrestling Patrick onto the mattress and rendering them both naked in record time, just confirmed to Patrick that all the effort, time and money he’d put into this particular gift were more than worth it. The sex aside – and they had had a lot of exceptionally good sex in the bed since Valentine’s Day – Patrick had to admit that Pete did seem to sleep better and for longer periods too, even if he spent his sleeping hours plastered to Patrick's side or half on top of him. As much as Patrick liked to grumble about the floor space they’d sacrificed, it made him happy to see Pete with less grey under his eyes lately. Still a huge bed though.

This morning, something felt…wrong. Out of proportion. For a start, Patrick had his side of the bed completely to himself but he could sense that Pete was still very much under the covers. That was unusual, for Pete to be sleeping on his own side, but not unheard of. The pillow under Patrick's head seemed enormous – like, twice as big as normal. When he stretched his arms and legs his toes were nowhere near the foot of the bed, his hand didn’t flop over the edge of the mattress, he wasn’t wary of banging his knuckles on the nightstand as he did some mornings in his fuzzy-headed state of barely-awake.

Patrick felt Very Small indeed.

Internal alarm bells began to ring. He turned over, facing Pete's side, and hated how relieved he was to see the shock of black hair on the other pillow. Pete's pillow looked way too big as well. Patrick reached out, under the covers, and grabbed Pete by the shoulder, shaking him and saying his name at the same time.

The feel of Pete's shoulder, the way his own hand felt, and the sound of his own voice confirmed his suspicions. When Pete turned to face him, bleary-eyed and heavy-lidded, Patrick inhaled sharply.

“Whazzup?” Pete mumbled, then heard himself and came awake fully with a jolt. Shock flooded his eyes and he sat up, flinging the covers off both of them and staring at Patrick. “Fuck!”

“Call Andy.” Patrick said, because Pete might well be the oldest member of the band, but Andy was, and always had been, the Dad of the group, and if this wasn’t an emergency that called for a Dad, Patrick didn’t know what was.

*****

An hour later Andy and Joe stood facing Patrick and Pete, who were sitting on stools at the breakfast counter in their kitchen, both still in their pyjamas and with bare feet that didn’t come close to reaching the foot rests beneath them.

Andy looked harried and exasperated but only mildly surprised at what he was dealing with. They’d all learned a long time ago that it took a lot to shake Andy and apparently even this was only leading to a raised eyebrow and a gripe about being interrupted at cross-fit. He stood in an almost-military stance, feet planted firmly apart, arms folded across his chest, posture perfect as always. Pete, ever the fidget, was now ten times worse and he squirmed under Andy's gaze. Andy was wearing his sunglasses indoors – claiming a tension headache – but Pete still knew Andy's eyes were fixed firmly on him. Andy hadn’t spoken since arriving.

By contrast Joe had his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and looked fairly relaxed. He was currently grinning at what he was seeing, having gone through shock and amazement when he first walked into the house. His eyes flicked back and forth between Patrick and Pete, and his lips kept quirking as if he were about to say something but he never quite got there. Patrick knew, from the bond he had with Joe, that brotherly level of friendship they’d developed early-on through necessity – at first – of being that much younger than Pete and Andy, that Joe was going to do everything humanly possible to turn this mess around but that he was also going to be absolutely merciless in his teasing and mocking. A light came into his eyes and his smile widened, just a fraction. Patrick groaned quietly to himself – Joe had obviously settled on a starting point.

“Nice jammies.” Joe said. “What’re you, five?” He holds out his hand for a palm-slap from Andy, who doesn’t give it. Joe shrugs and puts his hand back in his pocket.

“Almost six, I believe.” Patrick says, scowling at Joe and trying to be taken seriously. Hard to be taken seriously though when you are, in fact, a five-year-old child.

“Thith ith bullthit!” Pete shouts, then claps his hands over his mouth as his eyes widen in horror. “I have a lithp? Are you fucking kidding me?”

Patrick looks smug. It’s an oddly knowing look and it sits strangely on his cherubic face. Joe, having seen all of Patrick and Pete's childhood pictures – including the ones that have never made it online – knows that this isn’t some body-swap crap going on. Patrick and Pete have reverted to their childhood bodies. Yet, somehow, they’ve retained their adult personalities. The whole thing would be endlessly fascinating to Joe – it actually is endlessly fascinating, but he keeps that part to himself, knowing Andy is close to losing it – if it weren’t for the fact that they have a show on Christmas Eve. And now they have no bassist and no singer.

“How did this happen?” Andy asks, practical as ever. Joe admires him – his first question was going to be ‘do you want to play Lego?’ – and tries to emulate the serious expression on his face. Pete notices immediately.

“Whath wrong with your fathe?” he asks, making an interesting face of his own. “Ah, thit. I can’t go around thpeaking like thith. I thound like fucking Porky Pig. Thtop laughing, you athhole!” This last is directed at Patrick.

“Sorry.” Patrick doesn’t sound at all sorry. “It’s just you sound funny anyway and this is so obviously pissing you off even more.”

“Fuck you!” Pete shoves Patrick, who wobbles precariously on his stool then returns the shove, his little face going red with anger.

“No, fuck you!” He yells back at Pete.  
“Hey!” Andy barks, trying to take charge. “You kids quit saying ‘fuck’! Fuck!” He turns to Joe. “C’mon, man, help me out here. You do the Dad thing.”

“By which you mean I have offspring?” Joe clarifies. “I mean, yeah, but I have girls, dude, and they are nothing like whatever the hell this is.” He gestures at Pete and Patrick, who are slapping one another. He thinks for a second, then pushes the sleeves back on his sweater and wades in, lifting Patrick bodily into the air and swinging him away from Pete. “Time out!”

“Yeth!” Pete cries, pumping his fist triumphantly. “In your FATHE, Thtump!”

“You too, Pete.” Joe puts on his best Dad voice as he deposits Patrick on the sofa. “You were both fighting and cursing, so you both get time out.”

“You can’t do that.” Pete replies indignantly. “I’m not a little kid.”

Patrick snorts derisively from across the room, which just makes Joe want to go ‘awwww’ and pinch Patrick's cheeks.

“Technically…” Joe drawls, as he hoists a struggling Pete over his shoulder and walks out into the hallway with him. He plonks Pete down on the bottom step of the staircase and crouches down to look him in the eye. “Ok, little buddy. You’re five years old, so you get five minutes out. Understand?”

Pete's mouth drops open in astonishment, but no words come out. Joe ruffles his hair and stands up again. Pete stays where he is for the five minutes, then re-appears in the kitchen and actually apologises.

They all eat Captain Crunch cereal at the counter, apart from Andy who has already eaten. It’s all incredibly weird.

*****

Neither Pete nor Patrick have any idea about what may have caused their…situation. The previous day was spent Christmas shopping for one another in the mall. Andy quizzes both of them relentlessly, asking them where they shopped – apart and together – who they spoke to, what they bought. The answers to the last question bring some interesting reactions.

“Thneakerth?” Pete makes a face, features scrunching up in disgust. “Do they light up?” Patrick shakes his head. “I don’t want ‘em. I want…Hot Wheelth!”

And

“An amblifrier?” Patrick's grimace mirrors Pete's. “I don’t even know what that is! I wanted Transformers.”

Then

“What the hell’th going on? I don’t want Hot Wheelth.” A pause as Pete considers. “I mean…kind of, yeah, but mothtly, I know which thneakerth you mean, and I’ve wanted them forever.”

“Yeah. And I specifically asked you to get me that amp.” Patrick looks puzzled. “Why are we babbling about toys?”

“Toyth.” Pete gives Patrick a wink and Patrick blushes.

“Oh, that’s gross.” Andy grimaces now. “None of that. Not while you’re like this.”

“Stay on topic.” Joe tells them all. His worry is increasing. “I think you’re regressing into actual kids. And it’s happening fast, guys. We need to get on this and fix it. You don’t remember anything else at all from yesterday?”

“Jutht Patrick being boring.” Pete says. “He wath all ‘oh, we need to do thome actual thopping too. We can’t thit in Thtarbuckth drinking hot chocolate all day.’”

“We needed detergent, Pete.” Patrick points out. “Somebody in this house has to be responsible.”

“Ith Chrithmath!” Pete shouts.

“Clothes still need washing, even during the holidays!” Patrick snaps. Joe feels like he’s listening to an argument from the previous day being rehashed. “And knowing you, and how you live on eggnog and fudge through the whole of December, clothes especially need washing during the holidays.”

“I will time you out again if you don’t stop yelling.” Joe says mildly. He turns to Andy. “Split them?”

“Split them.” Andy agrees.

“Dibs on Patrick.” Joe gets in quickly. Andy groans. “Hey, Pete was your guy before he was anyone’s, and Patrick always been my guy. And when this is all over you get to go back to a normal, child-free life. You can handle Pete for a little while. He can’t be that different to usual, just smaller.” He grins at Patrick. “Whereas you, my tiny dude, are probably not that different in size at all, right?”

Patrick bursts into tears.

“That’s mean!” he wails. “You’re a grown-up, Joe. You shouldn’t make fun of me.”

Joe is mortified. Pete scrabbles across the sofa to rub a small hand on Patrick's back comfortingly. He glares at Joe.

“It’th ok.” Pete soothes. Patrick sniffles and gives Pete a watery smile. “He’th jutht a poo-poo-head.” Pete whispers and both boys giggle.

“I do not like this at all.” Andy says in a low voice to Joe. “We need to find out what the hell they did yesterday.”

Joe couldn’t agree more.

*****

“So, what did you find out?” Joe's phone is jammed between his ear and his shoulder, one hand holding a spatula, the other opening kitchen cupboards and looking for maple syrup. He finds the bottle and turns to wave it at Patrick who gives him a double thumbs-up from the table.

“Not a lot. I tried to get Pete to remember which shops he went to at the mall, but all he talks about is Santa coming in three sleeps. You?”

“Well, I found out that Patrick's favourite Transformer is Bumblebee, which is kind of predictable, given he’s five, but-“

“Joe.” Andy cuts in. “What did you find out about the problem?”

“Oh. That. Yeah, nothing.” Joe flips pancakes onto the plates at his sides, smothers them in syrup. He considers the blueberries in his fridge, the ones he would insist Ruby at least eat a handful of if he were making her pancakes, then decides everything is bad enough without trying to force-feed Patrick fruit too. “I think I might take Patrick to the mall tomorrow, try and re-construct the scene. That might jog his memory.”

“’Re-construct the scene?’” Andy asks. “Have you been binging Criminal Minds again?”

“…no.” Joe knows he hesitated too long. He knows Andy can tell he’s lying by the way he’s breathing down the line. Andy Hurley is a man of few words. His bandmates have learned to read his breathing over the years. “It’s just an idea.”

“Hm.” Andy breathes again. Joe joins him, feeling a little more relaxed now. “It could work, I guess.” His voice becomes muffled and a little frantic. “Pete, no! Put that down! Bad Pete! Bad! No! Do not!”

There is scrabbling at the other end of the line, followed by high-pitched laughing. Joe realises that Pete-as-child sounds like Chucky. Probably behaves like him too. He looks at Patrick, who is drawing quietly, a juice box at his elbow, humming to himself. He senses Joe's eyes on him and looks up, offering the sunniest of smiles. Joe smiles back. Andy comes back, sounding breathless.

“I have to go. Thank God it’s getting late. He should sleep soon, right?”  
Joe doesn’t have the heart to remind Andy which child he’s in charge of. The likelihood of Pete sleeping any time soon, or even at all, is slim to none. He’s saved from having to sugar-coat the truth by the sound of small feet thundering across a hardwood floor and a primal yell in the background.

“NAKED!”

“Oh God, NO!” Andy hangs up the phone.

Joe and Patrick eat pancakes for dinner, watch Trolls on DVD, and turn in at 9.00, Patrick not complaining at sleeping in a girl’s bed, in a girl’s bedroom. Joe goes to sleep pointedly not thinking about what Andy is most likely dealing with and how little rest he’s going to get.

 

2 Days Until Christmas…

Joe stops feeling smug when he’s woken by his name being yelled at 2.00am. He stumbles down the hall and into his daughter’s bedroom, eyes half shut and ready to soothe away fears of monsters and dragons prepared to eat his daughter.

Patrick is sitting in the middle of the bed, with the covers pulled up past his chin. He’s nothing but a huge pair of blue eyes and a mass of strawberry-blonde hair. For a split-second Joe thinks he’s looking at McCauley Culkin and that he’s somehow wound up in Home Alone. ‘Tis the season after all. Then he wakes up a little more.

“Joe…” Patrick's voice is trembly.

“Oh, hey, buddy.” Joe crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed. “Bad dream?” Patrick nods. Joe gathers Patrick to him, covers and all. “You want to tell me about it?” Now Patrick shakes his head, violently. Joe hugs him a little tighter. “That’s ok. Sometimes, though, if you tell a grown-up what the bad dream is, they can chase it away for you.” Patrick stiffens. Joe waits, patiently.

“You asshole.” Patrick says. “It wasn’t a kid dream. I’m aware of what’s going on right now. ‘Chase it away’.”

“Hey, it works for my kid, ok?” Joe responds, removing Patrick from his lap and putting him back onto the mattress. “How’m I supposed to know where your head’s at? You call me in the middle of the night, you’re sitting there looking all terrified and you don’t want to tell me what your nightmare is. Pretty kid-like if you ask me.”

“Well, I didn’t ask.” Patrick flops onto his back, then turns away from Joe angrily. Joe stands up to leave.

He’s at the door when Patrick speaks again.

“We were stuck like this.” His voice is soft, a note of unhappiness in it. Joe turns back, leans in the doorway. Patrick still has his back to Joe as he talks. “That was the dream. That Pete and I were stuck this way, but we were…lost. We just became children.”

“We’re gonna fix this.” Joe tells him. “I promise, Patrick. Me and Andy, we’re not going to let you get lost. Not even Pete.” Especially not Pete, he thinks. Andy can’t deal with that long-term.

“It needs to be soon, Joe. We have that show on Christmas Eve.”

“Eh.” Joe shrugs. “We’ll just do what Queen did, in that video. We’ll get two other kids who look like me and Hurley, send them on with you and Pete. It’s Christmas. Kids are cute. The crowd’ll love it.”

“For a whole show? A live performance? How would that even work?”

“Logistics.” Joe dismisses Patrick's concerns with a wave of his hand. “We’ll tackle that when it comes to it. If it comes to it.”

Patrick yawns loudly.

“Yeah.” Joe says. “Little kids should most definitely not be awake at this time of the night. Are you good to go back to sleep? Need me to tuck you in? Warm glass of milk? Lullaby?”

“Fuck you, Joe.” Patrick murmurs, half asleep. Joe grins to himself.

“Fuck you too.” He replies in a whisper.

*****

“You have GOT to fix this today.” Andy's whisper is fierce, but there’s a hint of desperation in it. Joe can tell Andy has his hand cupped around his phone and is talking through gritted teeth. “He didn’t sleep, Joe. He ran around my house, in various stages of undressed, all fucking night.”

“You took Pete to Fuck City? Why would you do that? Why didn’t you just stay at his house?”

“Because it was weird, ok.” Andy sounds exhausted and at the end of his tether. “All his and Patrick's stuff is there. They don’t have kids and there’s nothing there to keep him occupied.”

“Because your place is a veritable playground.” Joe shakes his head and rolls his eyes, not caring that Andy can’t see him. “Patrick, you got your backpack, dude?”

“Yeah.” Comes an unsure-sounding little voice from upstairs. “I don’t think it’s mine though. I think my favourite princess is Ariel, not the Scottish one.”  
“In this house we like Disney princesses who defy convention and fight bears.” Joe calls back.

“If this isn’t fixed today, we do a swap tonight.” Andy says. “I need to sleep.”

“Yeah, no can do.” Joe says, smiling at Patrick as he comes down the stairs on his behind, dragging the Merida backpack behind him by the strap. “I have a tricycle and a sweeping landing in this house, and I’ve seen The Omen. I know what kids like Pete are capable of.”

“So, don’t stand on a chair and you’ll be fine.” Andy has also seen The Omen. “Why does Patrick need a backpack? Are you coming to collect Pete?”

“I wasn’t, but I guess I can.” Joe compromises. “It’ll probably help to have Pete along too. He might remember things that Patrick doesn’t.”

“Oh, yeah, your ‘re-construction’.” Andy laughs humourlessly.

“Or maybe I’ll leave Pete with you today.” Joe backtracks.

“No!” Andy and Patrick both shout at the same time. Joe looks at Patrick, eyebrows raised.

“I want Pete to come too.” Patrick says, pouting a little. “He’s fun.”

Joe remembers the two kids fighting and yelling yesterday and wonders which part of that Patrick found fun, then remembers that his own favourite thing when he was five was sticking objects up his nose. Kids are weird. It’s official.

After finishing up talking to Andy, Joe checks Patrick's backpack, removes three of the five soft toys Patrick has packed, adds in some wet wipes and two clean t-shirts because Pete, and locks up the house.

“Hate to do this to you, but you have to sit in the car seat, little man.” Joe says as Patrick clambers up in to the back of the car. Patrick shrugs and lifts his arms obligingly for Joe to buckle him in. Joe opens the trunk, praying the spare seat is there and fist-pumping triumphantly when it is. He hopes Pete is as easy-going about it as Patrick.

He isn’t. He does look like the coolest five-year-old on the planet though. He’s wearing a Metallica t-shirt and jeans that are strategically ripped at the knees, with high-top black Converse and his hair gelled into a mini-mohawk. Joe looks at Andy for explanation, even as Andy is ushering Pete out of the door and towards the car.

“The t-shirt was a Christmas gift for Ruby.” Andy explains. “Which I will replace. The rest we picked up on our way here yesterday. We were in Target for approximately twenty minutes and Pete managed to knock down a display of frying pans, set off a fire alarm, and charm the fifty-something cashier into almost adopting him. I almost let her.”

“The hair?” Joe asks.  
“He makes such a cute little punk.” Andy looks slightly embarrassed. “All he’s missing is his eyeliner and he could go back to screaming for Arma. God knows he did enough of it during the night.”

It takes Joe and Andy working together to wrestle Pete bodily into the car seat next to Patrick in the back of the car. Patrick watches with wide eyes, clutching the backpack to him, until Pete is buckled in. Then he unzips the backpack and pulls out the two soft toys that he was allowed to bring with him, holding them out towards Pete who is glowering and sullen.

“I brought you a monkey.” Patrick says shyly. “The dog is for me, but I guess you can have it if you like.”

Pete's face softens a little. He takes the monkey warily.

“Monkeyth are cool.” He says. “Thankth.”

“We’re going to see Santa.” Patrick confides in a loud whisper. Joe, driving, frowns into the mirror.

“Uh, no.” He says. “No time for Santa. Not today. We’re too busy doing other stuff. Sorry, little dudes.” He winces as Pete's face contorts into that all-too-familiar frown. “Maybe if we have time, and you’re both good, we can see him later.”

“And get ice cream?” Patrick asks. Two huge pair of eyes meet Joe's in the mirror. He sighs and utters those famous last words of parenting:

“We’ll see.”

*****

They go for ice cream first. Joe has not only thrown away the parenting rule-book, he’s shredded it and fed it to a ravenous herd of goats. The thing is, these are not his kids and as he’s determined to get them back to normal as soon as possible he’ll do whatever it takes to keep them – by which he means Pete – compliant in the meantime. So, they’re waiting outside the door to the ice cream parlour when it opens at 9.30.

He buys both of them whatever they ask for, knowing they won’t eat a fraction of it, but hey, these days he has more money than he knows what to do with, so he’ll cough up the cash for an easy morning. As they eat, he casually quizzes them about their previous visit, which they remember but are reluctant to talk about. They seem to see it as an event that happened to other people, other adults, and can’t understand why Joe is so interested in a boring day at the mall.

“We didn’t go to any of the toy stores!” Patrick complains. “We didn’t see Santa, or get ice cream, or do anything fun.”

Pete nods agreement. Joe was right to bring the spare clothes – Pete has chocolate ice cream all down the front of his Metallica t-shirt and his chin is dripping mint choc-chip. Joe hands Pete a wet-wipe to clean himself up with.

“So, where did you go? Anywhere cool?” He asks Patrick.

“It all thucked.” Pete says, squirming in his seat as Joe takes over the cleaning. He speaks through the wipe Joe is applying to his face. “One thtore wath kinda cool though.” He turns to look at Patrick. “Remember the plathe with all the old thtuff?”

Something flickers in Patrick's eyes. Joe leans forward on his elbows.

“Top floor.” Patrick says. “It was…cluttered and dusty.” His eyes take on a dreamy glaze, as if he’s drifting away somewhere.

“You wanted to buy thome thtupid vathe.” Pete grumbles, but his eyes are also becoming unfocused.

“We were fighting.” Patrick remembers. “Before we even got to that store. We’d been fighting all day.”

“All week.” Pete corrects him. Patrick nods slowly, languorously.

Joe looks from one to the other, loathe to interrupt but wanting to know more. This could be important. Patrick looks at Joe, looks through Joe.

“The store-owner, Joe. Something wasn’t right. He said…” He says, then his brow furrows. “Godamnit, why can’t I remember!” He pounds his fist on the table, making the bowls – and Pete – jump.

“Well, look who’s back in the room.” Joe murmurs. “Are you sticking around a while? Cause that would be helpful, man.”

“I don’t know.” Patrick says. “Honestly, this is a fight, to hold on to who I am. And I think I’m going to lose it. We should check out that store.”

“And kick thome ath.” Pete punches his fist into his palm. Joe bites inside his cheeks to keep from laughing.

*****

The store is empty. It looks like it hasn’t been occupied in a while. It’s tucked away at the very back of the top floor, where the lighting is poor and the only other stores are a used record store, which has a ‘going-out-of-business’ sign in the window, and an adult store. Joe looks between those two businesses, then looks at Pete and Patrick.

“So, I guess I know why you were up here.” He says dryly. Patrick flushes and Pete laughs. It’s a dirty chuckle and the sound of it coming from Pete right now is horrifying.

“I was in the record store.” Patrick clarifies.

“I wath not in the record thtore.” Pete grins. “Very much not.”

“Yeah, we get it, Pete. You’re seedy.” Patrick tells him.

“You’re jutht no fun theth dayth.” Pete answers. “And that’th why we can’t have kidth.”

“No, Pete.” Patrick says, closing his eyes wearily. “We can’t have kids because you’re too much fun. You never taken anything seriously. How can we raise a family together when you’re such a child yourself?”

“I know!” Pete yells. “You keep telling me. ‘We could adopt one child but it would be like having two.’ I get it, ‘Trick. You’ve told me over and over.”

“Wait, what?” Joe cuts in. “You were fighting about adopting a child?” Joe looks back into the empty store. “In there, too? The magic, disappearing-overnight, full of old crap, store?”

They both nod at him.

“What Gremlins, Vice-Versa, Freaky Friday bullshit have you activated?” Joe asks in horror. He fixes his gaze on Pete. “You! I know it was you. What did you do?”

Even Patrick, the logical atheist of the group, doesn’t deny that this is something enchanted – he can’t. The evidence is…himself. Pete is delighted at the realisation.

“Oh, cool.” He breathes. “We did thith? We did magic?”

“No, not cool.” Joe tells him, crouching in front of him. “Very uncool, Pete. Because whatever you did, we can’t undo this. The place, the stuff, the guy? It’s all gone.”

“It was the vase.” Patrick sits down on the floor, shoulders slumped. “I picked it up and wanted to buy it. You said it was ugly and a kid could easily break it. And I said it didn’t matter because it looked like we weren’t going to be having any kids anyway.”

“And the guy came out.” Pete drops to the floor next to Patrick. “We were both holding the vathe. I wath trying to take it from you. We both had out handth on it…”

“He said it contained powerful magic, but it worked the way it wanted to.” Patrick puts his head in his hands. “And we shouldn’t fight while we were holding it. And the only way to break the magic, is to break the vase.”  
“Fucking wonderful.” Joe also lowers himself the final few inches to the dusty floor, thankful his back allows him this these days. “Break the vase that has already moved on to pastures new.”

“It’th in our houthe…” Pete announces quietly.

*****

By the time they get back to the bottom level of the mall, the kids almost tripping over their feet trying to keep up with Joe, Pete and Patrick have reverted back to their childlike states once more and start pointing in the direction of Santa’s grotto. With both of them tugging him in that direction, Joe doesn’t have the strength or the energy to fight and allows them to drag him into the queue. He texts Andy the news as they wait and asks him to go to the house and get the vase, which is wrapped up and under the tree, ready for Patrick to open on Christmas morning.

Neither Pete nor Patrick remember anything special or specific happening while they were both holding the vase. They made eye contact over the top of it when the store owner gave his warning and their tempers evaporated. They left the store together, holding hands, and laughed together as they went into the record store. Pete left Patrick looking through a box of old jazz LPs and said he had to go elsewhere. He was quite happy for Patrick to assume that ‘elsewhere’ meant the adult shop – which he did think about – but actually went back to the curio store and bought the vase after all. Whatever Patrick wants, Patrick gets – that’s the motto Pete lives his life by. Unless it’s a family, because they can’t even talk about that without fighting.

Andy arrives as they’re just at the front of the line to see Santa, both boys climbing up onto his lap together. Andy stands with Joe and they listen to Pete jabbering about skateboards and a puppy and dinosaurs. Patrick waits for his turn, but Joe can see he’s getting impatient. So can Santa, who finally hushes Pete – and for a wonder, he listens – and asks Patrick what he’d like for Christmas.

“I wish I were big.” Patrick says quietly.

“Dude’s just ripping off of Tom Hanks now.” Joe mutters to Andy. Andy hushes Joe like Santa hushed Pete. Joe also listens.

“I can tell you that you’ll certainly get bigger as you get older.” Santa guarantees Patrick. “But is there something you’d like for Christmas this year?”

“Tranthformerth.” Pete reminds Patrick. Patrick thinks for a moment. Pete begins to fidget.

“Children.” Patrick reaches for Pete's hands and Pete sits still. “We should adopt. We can meet halfway. I can lighten up and loosen up if you can slow down a little.” Pete nods. Patrick looks over to Joe and Andy, his eyes resting on the vase in Andy’s arms. “I’m ready. Are you?”

“Leth do thith.” Pete slides down from Santa’s knee, taking Patrick with him and leaving a gaping Santa behind them. Joe shrugs at Santa.

“Kids, huh?” He offers. “They say the craziest things, am I right?”

Andy holds out the vase to the boys and they take it between them, their joined hands on one side of it. They lift it above their heads. Joe glances around to see if security are likely to try and stop them but no one is looking their way.

“Should we…say anything?” Patrick looks at Joe, his face scrunched up with concern.

Joe shakes his head.

“Nah.” He says. “Go nuts.”

He and Andy instinctively shield their eyes with their arms as Pete and Patrick dash the vase to the tiled floor, expecting bits of pottery to be flying everywhere. Despite what he’s been told about the distinct lack of magic the first time around, Joe is still anticipating wind and noise, maybe booming voices from whichever spirit they’ve angered by – hopefully – breaking the spell. He’s disappointed. There is just the smashing sound of glazed clay hitting the floor, followed by a teenage girl asking, breathlessly “oh my God, are you Ed Sheeran?” and Patrick muttering to Pete “every time, man”, then, louder “yeah, I can be.”

Joe takes his arm away from his face and surveys the scene in front of him. A very normal and grown-up looking Pete is taking a picture of a very normal and grown-up looking Patrick with said teenage girl, both of them holding up one thumb for the camera on the girl’s phone and grinning from ear to ear. Joe hasn’t seen Patrick smile so happily in a while and he knows it’s not for the picture, but for the guy behind the camera.

When the picture is done and the girl sent on her way, Patrick and Pete look each other up and down.

“Shit, you look good enough to fucking eat, ‘Trick.” Pete says. Patrick blushes and lets himself get pulled in for an agonisingly long – to Joe's mind – kiss.

Andy eventually grabs collars and physically pulls them apart.

“Enough.” He tells them. “We need to clean up the mess we made.”

But there is no mess. There are no remnants of the vase to be seen or found. This worries Joe and he voices it aloud.

“But what if it reforms somewhere else?” He asks.

“That’s Jumanji, man.” Pete shrugs, his arm around Patrick's shoulders. “That would be crazy.”

“Oh, sure, totally unlikely.” Joe mutters as they head for the parking lot. “’Magic isn’t real, Joe.’”

Patrick pulls back a little, his fingers entwined with Pete's, as they wait for the elevator.

“You want to be Godfather when we adopt?” He asks Joe. “I never realised what a great Dad you really were, but you kept Pete alive for almost 36-hours as a five-year-old.”

“Hey!” Andy cuts in. “I had him overnight.”

“Was I that bad?” Pete asks. “I mean, seriously?”

“Put it this way.” Joe tells him, clapping a hand to Pete's shoulder. “If you decide to go down the surrogate route, rather than adoption”, he points at Patrick, “for the love of God, use his sperm.”

“We could do that.” Pete looks at Patrick. “Gotta say I love the idea of a little you running around the place. Having just witnessed it first-hand, you were mind-blowingly cute. I’m down with surrogacy.”

“We can talk about it.” Patrick squeezes Pete's hand. “It’s an option.”

Pete gives Patrick a suggestive look. “You know how we go about getting the product, don’t you?”

The elevator arrives. Andy ushers everyone in, telling Pete to ‘please stop talking’.

Pete puts his mouth to Patrick’s ear and whispers loudly enough that he’s sure Andy and Joe will hear him.

“Naked…”

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a quote from the film Big, a 1980s, Tom Hanks classic, where he wishes to be an adult and...is! Obviously, what I've written barely goes anywhere near that, but it seemed a fitting title and then a fitting line for Patrick to say, because he would, wouldn't he?


End file.
